Many of us have watched her, she sits down, hair washed and done, makeup on, trendy clothes, sitting in an immaculate kitchen or large, stocked pantry, or at a gorgeous dining set. Or the gals that like to make videos in their car, they like to look “messy” or “undone” but their highlights are flawless, their car is clean. We laugh because they’re “so relatable” as they go on about the trials of motherhood. They’re tired because they’ve been driving their children around to various activities, making them food, cleaning, etc. They talk and laugh about errant husbands, judgey moms, ignorant strangers, disobedient children. Their intent is to give mom’s a lighthearted “atta girl”. “You’ve got this!” “This too shall pass.” They’re on our side. They’re rooting for us. But I’m calling bull. Not at their intent, but their “relatability”. Show me the kitchen floor that hasn’t been properly mopped in weeks, months, okay, years! Show me their IKEA dining set that barely fits in the kitchen, let alone makes their husband look like he’s at a toddler tea party. Show me the piles of laundry, the dirty pile and the clean pile. Show me the rum and Diet Coke at the end of the day, not the classy bottles of wine. Show me the antidepressants, the gross ignored upstairs bathroom because it's hard enough to keep the downstairs clean. Show me the thousands of candids taken on the phone because professional photos aren't in the budget. There's a reason we don't see these pictures, they're embarrassing. I don't want to show those parts of my life as much as the next mom. We want to take pictures of ourselves when we've gotten our hair done and our makeup is on. We don't want to see the bags under our eyes, why would we want to advertise them?! I get caught up in wanting to show only the best of myself and my life, but sometimes I don't feel like there's anything to show. No "squad" pics with all my besties. No selfies with my husband on our many dates. No birthday party pics in Vegas or Cancun. No fancy cocktails in an even fancier glass. Yes, this is a bit of a rant, a bit of a pity party, and a bit of me beating myself up because I know that I should be appreciative of everything I do have, not bitching about what I don't. No, there's a reason we don't see those pictures, because it's embarrassing. Personally, I scroll past these videos. I’m not a fan of any of them, really, or their “truths”. These are not my truths. Wishing to be an example of change, I try and show my happiness with my mess. Smiling children on a dirty floor. Toys EVERYWHERE. Dishes piled in the sink. I wish I saw more moms with no makeup on, wearing the yoga pants and T-shirt that they slept in. More moms with uncleared, little to no counter space in their tiny kitchens. That is my real life and I know I can’t be the only one. Finally, my wish isn’t to say that these moms are irrelevant or doing something wrong, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the videos. My hope is that I can represent and encourage different moms at different seasons in their life. Moms with dirty hair and dirty floors. Messy houses and maybe messy lives. My goal is to be truthful in my appearance and not gussy it up for the camera. There’s nothing wrong with doing hair and makeup and taking evidence that it actually happened, but don’t feel bad if your selfie is less put together and more a cry for help - for a stylist 😂
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After writing a five paragraph FB post, I figured I should just start blogging again. Now that I'm on kiddo number four, I figure I may have a bit of experience to share to other moms. So this will be a parenting blog, as uncontroversial and highly relatable as I can manage. It will be real, humorous, semi educational, and if anything, entertaining.
Mainly, it will be my outlet. It will be generally unplanned rambling that is too long and/or complex for FB. Plus, since my FB account is mixed company, I know some things I may cover will make the rougher sex uncomfortable. Granted, I enjoy making men, especially my brother, squirm when regaling them of tales of nursing, mucous plugs, poop colors, and so on, I'll be respectful of their sensitive stomachs and stick that info in the blog. In order to get newbies up to speed, I'll do a quick recap of the past week. Sunday I delivered, via unplanned c-section, my fourth child, Miss Demi Rose. My smallest baby at 6 lbs 14 0z. All my previous children were delivered vaginally, so this was a huge change. She was born with the cord wrapped around her neck three times. Daddy was freaking out during the surgery, but I was fine, knowing this is all routine. The first 30 minutes of her life was spent being given oxygen and watching vitals, never in distress, she just wasn't noisy enough. I finally got to hold and nurse her, extremely awkward while laying down and people are rearranging your insides. Overall, uneventful yet successful. Her and I were both fine and healthy. We were greeted from recovery to a room full of family anxious to meet the smallest member of the family. The hospital visit was two nights, and the best experience I've had of all my babies. The nurses were awesome and considerate of the fact that this wasn't my first rodeo. The days went by quickly and we were on our way home after lunch on Tuesday. We headed home to an empty and quiet atmosphere, minus two of our older kiddos. We settled down and rearranged the living room to include a bed for me so that I wouldn't have to travel up and downstairs. Here l I have sat for the past few days, watching the new fall season premieres and late night reruns. My husband had been the ever diligent nurse and responded promptly to my requests of snacks, water, meds, etc. My mom visited the first full day home to keep me company and ended up going to town on my kitchen. It's so clean now! Kramer's dad also visited, bringing me roses and alcohol (which I'm obstaining from while taking the pain meds for the csection). Later that day, I got to see my other kiddos briefly and watch them while Kramer and my MIL went to Fred Meyer. Natalie is super excited to have a baby sister, Dante is still trying to figure it all out, but that didn't stop him from giving Demi a bunch of kisses. That evening my sister-in-law brought us dinner. Demi is perfect. Sleeps through the night, for now, but Dante always has, so I may once again get lucky. She has her first dr appt today, same pediatrician as Dante and Nat, so we know and love her already. We did our traditional baby's first outing last night, Target and Applebees. This was the first time I've ever had to buy SMALLER diapers than what we were given at the hospital. They had 1s, Miss Demi is a petite NB size. We also got some socks, a girly new Boppy cover, because she deserves something different than the elephants we had for brother, some lightweight swaddling blankets, and another pair of shoes. She clearly needed them. Mommy picked up some Halloween candy and healthy snacks to keep in the diaper bag because nursing can make you seriously hangry. I also bought a cute poncho, a seasonal wardrobe update with the bonus use as a nursing cover. Daddy carried his "Peanut" (his nickname for her) throughout the store and was frequently approached with admirers. Someone even thought she was a doll. (Because it's perfectly normal for a large, hairy man to carry around a doll...) Applebees was more of the same, oohs and ahhs from strangers, some congratulations. Kramer and I laughed at the assumption most made that she was our first, since we didn't have any other kiddos with us. Haha! No. I ordered a steak for some much needed iron and Kramer, trying to get back on his diet since taking a break while we were in the hospital, had a shrimp salad. Back at home, I was worn out but overall ok. We watched some season premieres and other TV, overall chill night. This morning I get my Buster back, Nat briefly this afternoon before she goes for a sleepover. After the dr appt this morning, I'm going to check out a soap supply sale, visit my mother and then chill for the rest of the day. I picked up the front room and felt no pain, even though meds were wearing off. Kramer is upstairs converting our bedroom into a toddler/baby room where we just happen to sleep. We will allow Dante open access to the bedroom and we've ordered a wireless camera to install so we can see what he's up to when we're not up there to supervise. This is so that we can alleviate the activity from downstairs and make it safer for a smaller baby, and hopefully keep a majority of toddler toy mess upstairs. Sounds all good in theory, I'll let you know the reality. Welp, that's enough for now. This was all done from my phone, so I hope it's formatted correctly. It’s the beginning of football season! Born and raised in Washington State, I have been watching the Seattle Seahawks since as long as I can remember. Being my father’s daughter, I have been watching football for as long as I can remember. Sundays in the fall meant football on the television ALL DAY LONG. Since we didn’t have cable, there really wasn’t anything else to watch anyway. If it wasn’t on the television, it could be heard from the old radio in my dad’s garage while he banged and clanged on any number of cars he owned over the course of my childhood, or the 1931 Ford Model A he has been restoring my entire life. (I speak in past tense because I’m referencing my childhood, but if you go to my dad’s house now, things really haven’t changed.)
When I say I watched football, that’s a very loose interpretation. More accurately, I listened. I could never figure out what was going on, and quite honestly, I still have no idea. When I admit this to my husband, I have to stop him before he starts trying to explain. It’s no use. Outside of touchdowns, field goals, and flags, I have no clue what’s happening. I have gotten better over the years, I can at least follow it and get the general idea, but I don’t watch it because of my diehard love for the pigskin. I love the sound. Seahawks fans are known for their loud cheering; the sound of that cheering is what nearly hurtles me down memory lane. That constant roar of screams, clapping, shouting, yelling. The shrill, short bursts of whistle followed by the call of a referee echoing through the stadium. Commentators narrating each play, always sounding like the same person to me, even though there have been innumerable football alumni talking from those chairs. It never failed to make me jump when the startling cry of my dad (who rarely raised his voice) ripped through our 1200 square foot rambler in response to some intense play during the game. Later on, my brothers’ changing voices could be heard right along with his, even if I thought that they really didn’t know what was going on either. High school would add more depth to my football experiences. I went to as many football games as I could manage, usually with my dad and brothers, so I wasn’t scoring any points in the popularity department. Did I dream of dating a football player? Of course I did. Which one? My secret. Plus, it could change depending on the week. My other secret? I wanted to be a cheerleader. It would never happen. I didn’t have the guts, never even attempted to try out. However, I remember cheers. I remember watching my best friend clapping and smiling while chanting, “Be aggressive, B-E aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E!” My youngest brother had the hugest crush on my best friend, and he would go down to the bottom of the bleachers to copy her every move, hips moving in time with hers, and the entire squad. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. My senior year was the best year of my high school career. That year I was in cross country, I could drive myself to the football games, and I would stand with my teammates and cheer along to our best player who always managed to grab the ball and streak down the field to make a touchdown. Our football team wasn’t breaking any records, but we had spirit, YES WE DID! Sometimes I would sit in the stands next to my boyfriend, a trombone player in the band that would play at the football games, then I would drive him home afterwards because he was a sophomore and couldn’t drive. (I could write the BOOK on how NOT to be cool). Through my early adult life, football remained ever present. My ex-husband was always part of at least two fantasy football leagues, for church and work, and would watch all the games to keep up on stats and scores. We lived in Colorado and he was a Broncos fan as well as a Vikings fan, since he grew up in Minnesota. I refused to give up on the Seahawks and had a get together for the 2006 Super Bowl when the Seahawks faced off with the Pittsburgh Steelers. Sadly, we lost, but I was still proud that my team had made it that far. The year his work did a live draft, I was pregnant with our son Donovan. When we were deciding on names for the baby, he asked me what I thought of “Donovan”. I loved it and it was decided. I was recording everyone’s picks during the live draft when someone shouted out the name Donovan McNabb. I looked in the direction of my then husband and a sheepish grin crossed his face. That is how I learned my first child would be (loosely) named after a football player. Regardless of my personal familial situations, or who I was romantically involved with, football was watched. Men in my life must watch football. My daughter’s father was a Seahawks fan and so autumnal Sundays remained the same, the sounds the same, the traditions remained. Super Bowl XLVIII would be a game that reflected my own life a little too closely. It was the Seattle Seahawks versus the Denver Broncos. I had just recently returned to Washington after living in Denver from March to half of December. My brief stint in Denver ended when I was forced to find a new place to live near the end of the year. I decided I would pack everything into storage, spend the holidays in Washington and stay an additional month to save money, find a new place in Denver, and then return. Spending time with family made me homesick and I decided I was going to stay in the northwest. By the time Super Bowl came around, I was still wrestling with this decision. I’m not superstitious and don’t see things as “signs”, but the Seahawks’ extreme demolition of the Broncos that game seemed as clear a sign as any. Seattle was home. Within the last few years, a new family tradition has emerged; games at the Chalet. Originally built to house the American Legion, this aging theatre is rich with history. Legally they can’t charge to watch the games, but we gladly play for concession popcorn, freshly grilled hot dogs, and the occasional candy treat. Two years ago, the first time I introduced my now husband to my dad, we were at the Chalet. Kramer is a huge football fan and when introducing a new guy to my dad, I always try and find something that I know they mutually enjoy. This time it was easy. Soon they were chatting about the game in ways that are impossible for me to follow, but were still familiar in their sound and cadence. Last year I was pregnant the entire football season. When we would manage to get to the Chalet to watch the games, I would watch other couples with newer babies and imagine bringing our baby the following year, wearing his Russell Simmons jersey/onesie. Dante would make his grand entrance during the halftime show of Super Bowl 50. We had the game on during the delivery, a welcome distraction between the uncomfortable contractions. Much of the family that wasn’t in the hospital room with me, was at the Chalet a block away, awaiting the go ahead to come visit the newest addition. The first preseason game this year, Dante was with us at the Chalet for kickoff. Now my dreams include watching Dante play football. I wonder if Nat will become a cheerleader. Poor Donovan is stuck between a football turf war between his mom and dad and when asked what team he likes he says, “Honestly, I don’t even like football.” Haha! My family will always watch football. Someday I will hear Dante yelling along with his Dad and Grandpa at the screen at some bad call by a ref. Maybe Nat will bring home a guy for us to meet and Kramer will ask him if he watched last night’s game, and Natalie will have bet on this and chosen a guy that will be able to hold his own in football talk. Knowing her, she’ll be talking right along with them about how well so-and-so played. Autumn is my favorite season, and one of the reasons why is because of football. The imagery, the sounds, the smells. The memories that it invokes only bring me joy, and I imagine that many more happy memories will be made around our love of football. |
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